


Philia and Storge

by Providentia67



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Bonding, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Providentia67/pseuds/Providentia67
Summary: When tragedy strikes in the heart of Paris, it leaves Marinette without the love of her life and Ladybug with an empty hole where her best friend and partner used to be.  One that, despite her grief, must be filled.Felix may not be his cousin, may be the coldest, most insensitive jerk she's ever met short of Gabriel Agreste himself, but he does possess the skills to fill the role of Chat Noir.  And maybe, if they can learn to work together, the two of them can honor the legacy of the person they both hold dear to their hearts.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Félix, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Plagg, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Bridgette/Félix (Miraculous Ladybug), Félix & Plagg (Miraculous Ladybug), Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Félix
Kudos: 28





	Philia and Storge

He is not surprised by her arrival. Rather, he had been expecting it for some time. Waiting for her to summon him through some form of elaborate correspondence through her blogger friend, or even to catch glimpse of fleeting red in the high rooftops of the London skyline. Like his cousin had once been, the girl is nothing if not terribly predictable. Even her rather mundane approach, simply begging entry at the gates of the Graham de Venily estate, had carried with it a certain level of presumption which was as insulting as it was entertaining.

And so, when the girl appears in the entry of the sun room, head bowed and hands clasped before her in supplication, he does little more than finish the flourish of script to complete his own letter and set his pen down. He does not look up from the carefully worded epistle, and he certainly does not give her the time of day. She may have kept him waiting, but Felix is not yet ready to grant her anything but his contempt.

“Félix, nous ne nous connaissons peut-être pas très bien-”

The scoff is through his lips before she finishes her first sentence. “You may not hold much respect for me after our previous meeting, Miss Dupain-Cheng, but I will insist that you at the very least respect the sanctity of the country in which you now stand. English, if you please.”

The girl scowls, and as her hands tense, she draws attention to the cherry wood box clutched desperately in her palm. Felix holds himself still, fingering the twin ring on his finger and watching the girl’s eyes be drawn to the silver band. “C’est,” he says. “Si tu peux le parler.”

“I can speak English just fine.” Her cheeks flush red with embarrassment and Felix looks back out the windows of the sun room to hide the unseemly roll of his eyes. So easily offended. He will have much work to do.

Crossing his legs and sitting back in his chair, he gestures to the open seat opposite himself. “Excellent. Then will you please sit so we can discuss business? Or do you intend to stand idly in my doorway for the duration of your visit?”

The clumsy waddle of her footsteps is answer enough. She nearly trips over the potted rose tabled nearby and Felix works the muscle in his jaw as he listens to the ceramic wobble. He breathes out through his nose as the pot settles. He would not have appreciated having to explain to Bridgette what had happened to her little project. With an edge of steel in his eyes he watches Marinette fold herself into the chair across from him.

She is fiddling with her hair, playing at the ties that keep her navy locks separated in two. That, he decides must be the first to go.

“You’ll need to change your hair.”

“Excuse me, what?” She recoils as if he’d struck her, clutching her pig tail in one hand and her box against her chest with the other. Felix sighs and rests his chin on the back of one hand.

“Your hair,” he says, nodding in her direction. “Honestly it is a wonder you have not been exposed. Tell me Miss Dunain-Cheng, how many navy-haired girls of your approximate age keep their hair at that length and in pigtails.”

Before she can answer, Mother strides in with two cups of tea and a platter of biscuits. “Thought you two could use some refreshment my dear,” she says, pressing a kiss to Felix’s cheek. He returns the affection with a smile.

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” And then she is gone, disappearing into the main house with little more than a glance at the girl in his company. Felix watches Marinette watch her go. 

“My mother,” he clarifies. “I forget, you had not met her during our short stay in Paris.”

Marinette swallows a lump in her throat as Felix takes hold of his cup and takes a sip. “She looks just like-”

“As she should,” says Felix. “They were twins.” He means for the smile he gives to be mocking, perhaps a little smug, but fears it might have come off a little raw by the way her eyes soften. “What? You didn’t think my cousin and I look so similar by coincidence.” He looks away from her and out into the gardens. “Adrien and I both inherited far more from our mothers than we ever did our fathers.”

“I can see that.” Marinette fingers the lip of her cup but does not take it in her hands. “I’m not cutting my hair,” she says, returning to the topic of conversation from before with a stubborn set to her lips.

Felix sighs and rubs the corner of his eye. “Don’t be ridiculous, that would hardly solve anything.” He holds out an open palm. “Your ties, if you please.”

Understanding blooms and Marinette looks down at her lap for a moment before sliding the elastic bands down and letting her hair tumble freely onto her shoulders. She drops them both into his hand. “There we are,” he says, brushing aside an obtrusive lock and tucking it behind her ear. “That’s a start at least.”

“How did you find out?” she asks, her eyes flitting down to the carefully written letter on his side of the table. Felix traces her line of sight and folds the letter away, tucking it into the pocket of his vest.

“It was hardly difficult to deduce,” he says. “A short look through my cousin’s belongings and it became painfully obvious what the nature of his nighttime activities were. And once I learned the truth about him, it was only a matter of time before I found you.” Felix twines the hair ties through his fingers and sends Marinette a sidelong glance. “Tell me, did my cousin ever learn the truth? Or is the burden of knowledge yours alone?”

There is a line of water cutting a path down the girl’s cheek and Felix dutifully looks away. He will not soften the blow, it is a wound she will have to numb herself to with time, but he will let her have her moment to grieve. Just as he had his.

“H-He didn’t,” she says, and there is relief in her wavering voice, just as much as there is sorrow.

“Yes, I suppose that is a kindness at least.” He clears his throat and sets the hair ties down on the table. “Now then,” he holds out his open palm again. “The Black Cat Miraculous, if you please.”

The box in the girl’s hands creaks with the strength with which she grips it. “What makes you think I’m giving it to you?” Her eyes are dark with anger. Perhaps she feels he is being presumptuous, or egotistical. Fair, given their limited interactions, but he is hardly going to let her rattle him with words alone. He’s known since the news had first reached his ears that this day would come.

He continues to hold his hand out, wordless.

She gnaws on her lower lip to the point of a single bead of red blood pooling beneath her cupid’s bow. Felix sighs and hands to her the handkerchief set in his breast pocket. She takes it with a glare. “You don’t deserve it,” she says. “Master Fu, he would have never given it to someone like you.”

He doesn’t know who this Master Fu is, but he does get some satisfaction in knowing that his suspicions are correct. Someone has served as keeper of these strange creatures who embody the Miraculous, and now that task has been given to Marinette. And she, despite all reservation, has now come to him.

“And yet,” he says, unable to keep the smirk from his voice. “Here we are.” 

“Only because I don’t have a choice. Paris can’t-” she sniffles and rubs her wrist against her eyes. “Paris can’t know that Chat Noir is dead.”

Felix nods and plays at the twin ring on his finger yet again. “And I cannot allow my cousin’s death to go unanswered.” Gripping his left hand in a fist he meets Marinette’s wondering gaze. “You may not think highly of me, Miss Dupain Cheng-”

“Marinette.”

He nods. “Marinette, then. You may think me of ill repute, but do not doubt that I loved my cousin dearly. Beyond my mother, Adrien was one of only two others I have ever truly cared for.” And he regrets the manner of their last parting. Despite Adrien’s forgiveness, the shallow, desperate acts of pettiness he’d displayed were not those fit of a Graham de Venily. If he could not make proper amends in Adrien’s life, then he will do whatever he must to honor him in death.

Felix is not sure what to think of the look Marinette is giving him. One that teeters on the edge of pity, but ties itself desperately to bitterness. Her sentimentality is suffocating, and if this yet-unformed partnership is to ever succeed, it is something he will need to teach her to curb.

She clears her throat and runs her fingers through the length of her hair, playing with its ends. “Who?” she asks, tentative. “Who is the other?”

He does not have to answer. She is certainly not owed any knowledge of his heart, nor he obligated to share. However, perhaps it might soothe this transition for him to offer her an olive branch. Felix retrieves the folded letter from his pocket and sets it on the table, retrieving his pen to sign the name of its recipient. 

“Bridgette?” Marinette reads. “Who is she?”

Sunshine. The first kiss of warmth after a long, cold storm. His salvation. 

“Someone,” says Felix. “Who will understand my absence while I attend to my late cousin’s affairs.” He clears his throat and looks once more at the box in Marinette’s hands. “Now, the box.”

This time, the girl places the box on the table, although she does not release it from her hand. She looks to him and says, “I can’t guarantee that Plagg will accept you. He loved Adrien and you… you didn’t exactly leave a good first impression.”

She lifts her hand and Felix reaches out, perhaps a little too fast, and takes the miraculous box in his palm. He can almost feel the power held within its simple confines reverberating in the very air. He swallows the knot of trepidation in his throat. “Then I will endeavor to amend his view of me. Prove myself a worthy successor.”

“Yeah,” Marinette hides a snort of amusement through her hand. “Good luck with that.”

Felix opens the lid and sees the ring within sitting in a bed of red velvet. He longs to reach out and take it in his hand, test its power. But that will summon the Kwami, and that- that is a conversation best left to be held in private. He snaps the box shut again and tucks it away. “I thank you for your visit, Miss Dupain-Cheng. But if you’ll excuse me, I have matters I must attend to.”

“Wait, what?” Marinette nearly leaps from her chair when Felix unfolds himself and stands. “That’s it?”

Felix brushes the hair from his face and fixes the set of his vest. “You were expecting more ceremony?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

Marinette shakes her head and grips the purse strapped over her shoulder. “No! I mean, we need to talk about this, don’t we?”

Felix sighs and collects the tray of mostly untouched tea and biscuits into his hand, setting the other against his hip. “We can discuss the finer details when I arrive in Paris. Until then, I doubt it would be wise to leave the city without its sole remaining defender.” He waits for the logic of his statement to sink in, and nods when Marinette drops her head.

“When?”

“Within the week,” he says. If the jerking of her head Felix catches in his peripheral is surprise at his expediency, he does not acknowledge it. “I have already put most of my affairs in order. My transfer documents and living arrangements are already settled, there are only a few personal matters that will require my direct attention.” He smirks at the way her shoulders sag in relief.

Had she really been so fearful of being left entirely alone? 

Bridgette would tell him not to feel smug about it. Felix brushes away the spectre of his own object of affection and settles a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “I’m not Adrien,” he says. “But to honor him, I swear to help you.”

He doesn’t wait for her response, simply squeezes the shoulder of her cardigan for a moment before slipping away and into the main house. His bodyguard falls into step behind him the moment he leaves the sun room and Felix waits a good five minutes before ordering him to escort their guest to the gates. Bridgette would remind him to be courteous. If she were there, he’d tell her that waiting five minutes for Marinette to collect herself _was_ him being courteous.

A quick trip to the kitchens to return his mother’s tray and a few minutes later and Felix is sequestered safely away in his room. With trembling fingers he loosens the knot of his tie and sets the miraculous box on the center of his desk. 

Staring at it from the safety of his bed, he buries his head in his hands. Smothering an angry groan behind his teeth, Felix curses the water soaking his palms and the cuffs of his sleeves. He’d thought he’d processed this, grieved and set the agony aside. But now that his cousin’s legacy is sitting not five feet away, waiting for him to take up its mantle, he has found the floodgates opening themselves up again. 

“Damn.”

Fumbling for the phone tucked in his back pocket, he dials a familiar number and sets the device to speaker before tossing it aside. It rings three times before the call goes through.

 _“Fe?_ ” she asks. _“Fe, is that you? Is everything okay?”_

Felix sniffs and brings the hand away from his mouth so that he may respond. “Bridgette. I… Forgive me, I told myself I wouldn’t bother you with this.”

Silence for a moment. _“Oh, Fe.”_ He can almost feel her arms wrapping around his shoulders. _“It’s okay. This is about Adrien, right?”_

“Yes.”

_“His friend came? The one you said would need your help?”_

“Yes. I just met with her and I will need to leave for Paris shortly.” He waits a moment to for the trembling in his jaw to ease. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

A sigh from the end of the call. _“It’ll be alright. I just wish I could be there to see you off. I could fly back and-”_

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your studies in America are important.” At the very least her foolish suggestion douses him with a little clarity. “I’m sending you a letter with more details, and I will keep in touch.” Brushing the last of the moisture from his cheeks, Felix stands to his feet and takes the phone in his hand, carrying it over to his desk and setting it beside the box.

_“You’re doing the right thing, Felix. Doing this for Adrien.”_

“I dearly hope so, love”

_“I just wish I’d had the chance to meet him.”_

He laughs, and is surprised by the way she startles it out of him. “I don’t,” he says. “You would have much preferred him to me. I’m afraid you’ve been saddled with the less desirable cousin.”

 _“Felix Graham de Venily. Don’t be silly.”_ He can hear the pout in her voice and imagines she must be stomping her foot. _“You might be a grumpy bug, but you are MY grumpy bug. And you’d do well to remember that, running around in the City of Love with some girl.”_

Felix smiles and hovers his finger over the end call button. “I shall. Goodbye, Bridgette.”

_“Bye, Fe. I know you’ll make Adrien proud.”_

He ends the call and slides the phone away. Courage mustered and heart eased, he takes the box in his hands and opens it. The silver ring shimmers in the reflection of the light and when Felix picks it up and slides it over his family ring, it feels as if something lost is returning to its home. He sighs at the comfortable weight and watches as Plagg, Kwami of Destruction, manifests before him.

“Hello Plagg,” he says before the cat spirit has a chance to act on the foul expression on his face. “My name is Felix Graham de Venily, Adrien’s cousin. And I’m the one who is going to help you avenge his death.”

For a moment the Kwami says nothing, simply crossing his forelimbs and watching Felix with a face that is entirely unimpressed. That is, until Felix pulls out from within his desk a platter of various assorted cheeses and that face stretches itself in a grin that speaks of something absolutely wicked. “Great,” says the cat. “Let’s get started.”


End file.
